


I Won't Walk Out On You

by lyriumandmentats



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Don't Judge Me, Drinking, How Do I Tag, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumandmentats/pseuds/lyriumandmentats
Summary: Hancock likes to spend his time staring at Warren's butt and wondering if maybe, just maybe, copious amounts of alcohol might dull the tension. But, as we all know, the more alcohol, the worse the resulting decisions are.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first entirely smut fic, so please forgive me if it's terrible. Concrit is always welcome, too. Thanks!

Hancock would never admit to how many times he had fallen asleep staring at the immaculate curve of his companion's ass. And the dreams he had following were far better than any chem-induced hallucinations. The ghoul would often wake up shortly before sunrise and have to deal with the aftermath of those glorious night-visions before Warren woke up.

He didn't entirely know why he found Warren attractive. Men weren't usually his thing, but there was something about the guy that was...well, sexy. Warren was tall, toned, with broad shoulders that gently tapered to a well-defined waist. Hancock liked to imagine how well he'd fit curled up into the curve of Warren's side, running his fingers down the lightly stubbled skin of his face, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and whiskey that followed the Vault-Dweller like an aura.

Of course, Hancock couldn't tell Warren about his attraction. Warren was, for lack of a better term, abrasive. Not that Hancock could blame him. After all, the man had lost his wife, his son, his home, pretty much his entire life, before waking up in a future that wasn't his. A future that had to seem pretty bleak compared to what he'd left behind.

And Hancock was certain Warren was pretty rigidly straight. After all, the guy had been married, not to mention the fact that he sort of had a reputation around Goodneighbor as a womanizer. Hancock didn't consider himself a jealous person, but he couldn't deny the fact that every time Warren sauntered off to the Hotel Rexford with some pretty girl on his arm, he felt a burning in his stomach.

Sometimes he pictured himself underneath the Vault-Dweller, crying out like the good little bottom he knew he was.

Hancock snorted, smoke puffing from the hole where his nose used to be. Yeah, he'd never, never, _ever_ tell Warren about that.

Tonight was pretty much like every other. They'd made their way to Goodneighbor so Hancock could stock up on chems and Warren could get wasted one last time before they dragged themselves back to Sanctuary, where Warren was sure Preston would have them running off to rescue some settlement out in the middle of nowhere. But for now, they were holed up in the Third Rail, surrounded by the smell of booze and stale cigarettes.

“We could just stay here in Goodneighbor for a while, you know,” Hancock suggested, leaning against the bar. “There's no rush to go back.”

Warren took his drink from Whitechapel Charlie and snorted. “Yeah, right,” he grumbled. “If I'm not back in the next day or so, Preston'll send out a whole platoon to find me.”

Hancock laughed, snuffing out his cigarette and taking a swig of his vodka. “I wouldn't put it past him, honestly.”

Warren took his third shot of whiskey, letting out a sharp breath as he slammed the shot glass onto the bar. “Listen, I'm not here to talk about him, all right? I'm here to get fucked up and, hopefully, fucked.” He jabbed his thumb towards Magnolia, who looked just as stunning as ever. 

Hancock narrowed his eyes, polishing off his vodka. It was no secret that Warren and Magnolia had hooked up on more than one occasion. In this situation, the ghoul didn't really know who to be jealous of. Of all the ladies in Goodneighbor, Magnolia had been the one who turned him down. Several times.

“To getting fucked up!” Hancock shouted, lifting high another glass of vodka.

“To getting fucked!” Warren roared, raising his own drink.

Hancock tipped the liquor down his throat, savoring the burn.

Several drinks later, Hancock was feeling thoroughly drunk, and he was sure the only reason why he and Warren didn't get kicked out of the Third Rail was because he was the mayor. After all, the two of them had nearly gotten into a fist fight with one of the patrons when their discussion turned sour.

Eventually, the part of his brain that wasn't dripping vodka convinced the rest of him that maybe it would be better if they took this party elsewhere. After some wheeling and dealing, Hancock persuaded Warren into following him back to the Old State House, but only after they bought another few bottles of vodka and whiskey and Hancock promised to share some chems. Which was exciting in and of itself; other than using Med-X before or after a fight, Hancock could count the number of times he'd seen Warren use chems on one hand.

The duo stumbled through the streets, up into Hancock's office and closed the half-door behind them. The building was mostly empty, save for Fahrenheit and a few of the Watch members. But they knew better than to hang around Hancock's room at night, especially when he came in drunk.

Hancock slumped into the sofa, Warren sitting opposite him. They passed the vodka bottle back and forth, chatting in between swigs. Hancock popped a few Mentats, which Warren turned down. Hancock wasn't surprised, but he was still a bit disappointed.

They had made it halfway through the bottle when Warren groaned.

“Didn't even get to ask Magnolia to dance,” he grunted, slamming an angry fist on the table. “Damn it all.”

Hancock giggled, pushing his tricorn hat up out of his eyes. “I'd dance with you, handsome.”

“But you don't have boobs!” Warren threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Maybe not, but I have other things,” Hancock said defensively.

Maybe it was just his imagination, spurred on by the vodka pumping through his veins, but the ghoul could have sworn that Warren had licked his lips. Hancock paused for a moment and tipped a generous mouthful of liquor into his mouth and decided to do something before he lost his nerve.

“You said ya wanted t'get fucked,” Hancock pointed out, words slurring together.

Warren nodded, staring at the now-empty vodka bottle. “Don't need to bring it up,” he said moodily.

“You could fuck me,” Hancock suggested in a tone he hoped was far sexier than he felt.

Warren looked up, his face unreadable. “Oh, yeah?”

Hancock couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he just nodded in a way he hoped didn't seem too frantic.

“Okay,” his companion replied with a shrug.

He slid onto the couch and slung one arm around the ghoul's shoulders, using his other hand to cup his face, bringing it closer to his. Hancock felt his mouth go dry and the room was spinning in a way that was far different than it usually did when he was drunk out of his skull.

“Wait,” he said, suddenly very shy, putting a hand on Warren's chest. “I...are you serious?”

“Well, yeah,” the Vault-Dweller replied, obviously confused. “I mean, if you were just dicking around with me, fine.”

“I mean, I wasn't exactly dicking around, but I didn't think you'd actually take me up on it.”

Warren looked even more confused. “What?”

“Never mind.” Hancock took advantage of the awkward pause and polished off the bottle of vodka. “Let's...let's...” He didn't know what to say, so he made a crude gesture with his hands to signify what he meant.

His companion snorted, pulling both of his knees up onto the couch. “You're an idiot,” he said, but his tone sounded far kinder than it usually did, so Hancock took it as less of an insult and more of a term of endearment.

“Takes one to know one,” he teased.

“Shut up and get naked.”

The ghoul wasted no time, pulling off his hat and shrugging out of his tattered coat, setting them both carefully aside. He stripped down to his threadbare underwear and turned around to find that Warren was wearing nothing but his smile, and Hancock felt like he couldn't move his fingers. He was too busy staring.

 _Damn,_ he thought. _My dreams ain't got shit on reality._

He'd always known his companion was handsome, but this was something else entirely. He could stare all he wanted at the defined muscles in Warren's abdomen, the sharp lines of his well-defined hips. The dusting of dirty-blonde hair that started faintly on his chest and ran all the way down to –

Hancock's eyes stopped just below his navel, where the hair got thicker, and he swallowed hard. He wouldn't look there. Not just yet.

“Enjoying the view?” Warren's voice was low and his dark eyes shone.

“Uh, yeah.” Hancock felt a bit nervous. Normally he was anything but self-conscious, but now, with such a fine specimen of a man before him, the ghoul became even more aware of his ruined body.

“C'mere. I'll help you with those.” Warren patted the spot on the couch next to him.

Slowly, Hancock approached and sat down lightly next to him. Warren leaned over and placed a surprisingly gentle kiss on his neck. He let out a breathy sound at the contact, feeling his skin grow hot. The Vault-Dweller chuckled softly, fingers trailing down Hancock's scarred, gnarled chest.

“Y'know,” Warren muttered, lips brushing against the ghoul's jaw. “I know you've made that 'sexy king of the zombies' joke more times than I care to count, but, if I'm gonna be honest, I've always had it bad for you.”

Hancock snorted. “Listen, pal, I ain't no blushing virgin. You don't need to try and flatter me.” Though, he couldn't deny the fact that hearing Warren say that, lie or not, made his stomach erupt into butterflies.

“I'm not lying,” Warren said defensively, hand sliding lower, fingers stopping just above Hancock's skivvies. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed me staring at your ass for god knows how long.”

“You're full of shit,” Hancock countered, but was cut off when Warren's wandering hands finally pushed away his underwear. His office wasn't cold, but the air felt icy against his heated skin.

“I may be full of shit, but you're about to be full of something else.”

Even Hancock couldn't think of anything to say to that.

So he just nodded, and Warren pulled him onto his lap.

They both let out satisfied sounds when their erections touched. Hancock shifted, hands planted firmly on Warren's shoulders for support.

“Listen, Hancock, I – ”

“John,” the ghoul interjected. “I...uh...call me John.”

Warren gave him a small smile. “Okay, then. John.” He grew suddenly serious again. “Listen, man, if I do anything you don't want, or if you change your mind or anything, tell me. I, uh...well, I don't want to do anything you don't want.”

Hancock looked shocked. He hadn't expected Warren to be so... _gentle._ In his mind, Hancock had pictured him being greedy, dominant, taking what he wanted when he wanted it. Love 'em and leave 'em. A real Don Juan. But the more he learned about Warren, the more he realized that he was far more than that.

“I...thanks,” he said breathlessly.

Warren nodded, splaying his fingers over Hancock's chest. “Now. Imma make you feel real good,” he said, splitting into a grin again. “That sound good, _John?_ ”

There was no denying the shiver that ran down his spine. It sounded good to hear someone say his name, especially like that. And especially coming from Warren.

“That sounds real fuckin' good,” Hancock replied.

The Vault-Dweller leaned forward and kissed along the ghoul's collarbone, his fingers trailing up and down his spine. Hancock let out a breathy sound, hands gripping the other man's shoulders tight. His nostrils filled with Warren's scent, filling him up, drowning him. He couldn't stop himself, and leaned into the crook of Warren's neck, breathing in the smell of his skin until his lungs felt like they would burst.

To his surprise, that earned a soft moan from the Vault-Dweller, who responded by biting down on Hancock's shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. The ghoul growled softly, opening his mouth and laving his tongue up Warren's throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped against Hancock's chest. “I wanna...”

Hancock leaned back, staring down at the gorgeous specimen beneath him. “You wanna what?”

A hand trailed down the ghoul's torso and fingers wrapped around his length, squeezing it gently. Hancock groaned in appreciation, and his hips twitched forward, his body craving more contact. Warren stroked him once, twice, three times before he pulled away again. Hancock huffed in annoyance, and the Vault-Dweller chuckled softly.

“Lay back,” he muttered, and Hancock obeyed, shifting down onto the tattered couch.

Again, Warren's eyes trailed over him as he stretched out over top of him. This time Hancock was certain he licked his lips and a thrill ran down his spine. He knew that if he were still able to blush, his entire body would sure as hell be the shade of a ripe tato.

“Kiss me,” he muttered, and Warren made a low sound before pressing a greedy kiss to the ghoul's lips.

“God, you're so hot,” Warren purred, kissing up and down Hancock's throat. “So perfect.” His words sent bursts of heat down into the ghoul's belly and groin. Without really meaning to, Hancock bucked his hips upward, and both of the men groaned when their erections bumped clumsily against each other.

“Shit, Warren. I just...”

Warren placed his hand over the ghoul's mouth with an amused expression. “Hush,” he said smoothly. “I want to take this slow. I want to enjoy it.”

As much as he wanted to, Hancock couldn't bring himself to argue. So he just nodded and relaxed back into the couch. The fabric was stiff and more than a few holes had worn through, exposing the stuffing. Hancock made sure not to put his hands through any of these.

Above him, Warren sank down, his broad chest pressing down against the ghoul's sunken one, and to Hancock, the smooth skin of the Vault-Dweller felt like heaven and smelled like it, too. He ran his fingers down Warren's spine, his fingertips brushing over each vertebrae, which stood out prominently. Hancock made a mental note to remind Warren to eat more, though in all honesty, he was still feeling pretty smashed, so he probably wouldn't remember come morning.

All thoughts were wiped from his mind when he felt Warren's hand wrap around his cock. Hancock let out a moan and Warren laughed softly into his ear.

“You like that, don't you?”

Hancock couldn't speak and only nodded in response, eyes falling shut as Warren's hand moved.

It was good, so very, very, undeniably good.

“Hey, do you have anything?” Warren asked, pausing in his ministrations. “Like, lube or something?”

Hancock opened one eye and nodded. “Yeah, uh...over there.” He pointed to the end table, too breathless to try and form the words to indicate where he was talking about. Warren opened the drawer and pulled out the smallish tube, a sly grin on his face.

“Cheers,” he said, twisting off the cap. Hancock's heart skipped a beat.

It had been a while, so when Warren first brushed his finger against the ghoul's entrance, he felt a thrill run down his spine. The slight twinged that followed was nothing; Warren was, again, surprisingly gentle. He slowly worked his finger in and out, and as Hancock's breathing steadied, he hooked it, catching the place that made the ghoul feel like he was going to pass out from the sheer pleasure of it.

Another finger followed, and another, and with Warren's other hand still working his cock, it wasn't long before Hancock looked up at him with pleading eyes, ready.

“What is it that you want?” Warren asked, voice husky. Hancock's black eyes flickered down to the Vault-Dweller's own hardened member and the single bead of arousal that had gathered at the tip. He licked his withered lips and Warren laughed softly.

“Say please,” he purred.

Again, the ghoul's heart felt like it might explode, jumping up into his throat and pounding there, threatening to burst through the skin.

“Please,” he managed to choke out.

It took a moment for Warren to apply more of the lubricant to himself, but when he finally pressed into Hancock, a long, drawn-out groan issued forth from both of them, mingling in the air like a duet. Hancock practically squirmed beneath the other man, peppering his throat and chest with open-mouthed, sloppy kisses, running his teeth along the few scars that stood out pale against that otherwise perfectly tanned chest.

Warren's hands slid under the ghoul, gripping the twin globes of his ass, fingers kneading into the scarred flesh. Hancock pressed backwards, forcing the man further up into him, and Warren responded by picking up the pace.

The sound of flesh on flesh filled the small room, periodically interrupted by a soft groan or Warren cursing through his teeth when Hancock swiped his tongue somewhere particularly sensitive.

Panting, Hancock reached out one hand and gripped the Vault-Dweller's wrist, directing it to his own cock. Warren took it in his calloused hand and pumped up and down the shaft. Hancock moaned out his approval, eyes rolling up into his skull. Warren made a soft sound. “God, you're so fucking hot right now,” he rumbled. Hancock forced his eyes open, taking in the glorious view of mid-coital Warren, who was nothing short of a hot mess, his usually slicked-back hair touseled, strands falling in his eyes, sticking to the sides of his head. Hancock burned the image into his mind, never wanting to forget it.

Sure, he'd been with plenty of people in his life, ghouls and smoothskins alike, but, maybe it was just his imagination, but Hancock was certain that Warren was different. The perfect blend of gentle and rough, slow and fast, and the ghoul certainly didn't want to touch or be touched by anyone else ever, ever again.

Maybe that wouldn't be what Warren wanted, and for a moment, Hancock felt his heart sink in his chest. He closed his eyes and made sure to concentrate extra hard, because if this would really be the only time, he sure as hell wasn't going to forget it.

Warren's breathy growling brought Hancock back into the present, the man's grip on his ass tightening, the pain not entirely unpleasant. He ran his teeth up Warren's throat and to the shell of his ear, where he brought his earlobe into his mouth and massaged it gently with his tongue.

“Oh, _fuck_ John, I'm gonna...” Warren moaned, the movements of his hips becoming more and more erratic.

Hancock felt close, too, and Warren sped up working his cock, squeezing ever so slightly, the increase in pressure enough to make the ghoul positively _keen_ in sheer need for release.

A litany of 'please's and 'oh god yes's fell from his open mouth, and Warren responded with loud, guttural noises. With only a few more movements of his hand, Hancock was lost, back arching up off of the ratty couch, blunt fingernails digging into Warren's skin as he clung to his shoulders. He came hot and hard, spilling onto Warren's hand and his own stomach, and as he cried out Warren's name over and over, the Vault-Dweller followed in his ecsasty, burying his face in the ghoul's neck and peppering it with love bites.

They lay there like that, panting and sweaty but satiated, for several long moments. After his breathing had steadied, Warren slid out of Hancock with a hissing sound. Hancock felt strangely empty, and while his body felt nothing but the warm aftermath of his pleasure, his heart was still throbbing in his chest. The thought that Warren might not want him again resurfaced, making him feel cold and small.

“Here.” Hancock jumped at the Vault-Dweller's voice, which sounded like a shout in the quiet of his office. “Let's get you cleaned up.” He had produced a rag from somewhere, and again, in a manner that was surprisingly considerate and condtradicted everything Hancock thought he knew about him, Warren cleaned the rapidly cooling spend from his belly and between his legs. Hancock felt the familiar warmth of blush creeping across his face.

“Thanks,” he croaked, voice soft.

Warren reclined back on the sofa, pulling Hancock up to curl up to his side. Which was surprising in and of itself. Warren seemed to read the ghoul's mind and gave him a curious look.

“You okay? You look like something's bothering you,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Um...you aren't...you aren't starting to regret what we did, are you?”

Hancock's eyes grew wide. “Hell, no, I just...” He sighed heavily. He was supposed to be the suave one, okay with loving and leaving. Hell, he'd done it plenty of times himself. But Warren...Warren was something else entirely.

“Listen, I like you, all right?” There, he'd said it. Warren would laugh and call him crazy and remind him this was a one-time thing. Or, in a way that was even worse, maybe they'd do it again. Forever destined to be fuck buddies. Which sounded all right, but Hancock didn't want that. He wanted...

“You like me?” Again Warren's voice cut like a knife through the silence.

“No, I don't. I mean, I do. Listen, brother, I...I've got it bad for you, all right? Real bad. Like, I'd never touch jet again if I meant that I got to... Well, you know.” Hancock looked away, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “I don't want to cramp your style, though. I wouldn't ask that of you.”

Warren took his face in both his hands and turned him to look him in the eye; eyes that reminded Hancock of a predator that had cornered its prey.

“You moron,” he said. The word held no bite, instead sounding almost like a term of endearment. “Since I know you don't have the balls to say it first, I will.”

Hancock froze as Warren leaned in and kissed him between the eyes like some love-struck teenager.

“I love you, John Hancock, and I'm not walking out on you.”

 


End file.
